Before the Wave Breaks
by WhenILookAtTheStars
Summary: Never in my life have I felt the true blade of the enemy’s greatest weapon, fear. And now, in the blackened shadow of this tower of my Forefather’s, I prepare myself for what must be a gruesome yet glorious death
1. First Entry: The Absence of Fear

_**3 Sulimé of the Year 3019 of the Third Age** _

I am undone by this terrible night. Dread and the wind bend me to despair, along with the rest of the men. I am justly terrified. Never in my life have I felt the true blade of the enemy's greatest weapon; fear. And now, in the blackened shadow of this tower of my Forefather's, I prepare myself for what must be a gruesome yet glorious death, according to my brother, Clannae. But he cannot see. He has been in many a battle, many a raid and an enemy's spear has he braved. The only weapon I have ever wielded was my quill and tongue. Yet neither will save me from the inevitable.  
  
My mother weeps in the caves. In my head, I can still hear her calling my name. I am the youngest of her eight boys. Only my sister and mother now have a chance to live. My three older brothers followed Eomer son of Eomund and nephew of the Lord of the Mark, King Théoden. The rest of her sons must fight for Rohan here on this tower, as our father had, bravely and selflessly.  
  
Yet I am no soldier. I have never brandished a sword in my entire life span. I was taught by our Priests how to read and write, a gift only given to those of high birth or going into the work of the temple. Yet they took me in and bid me to keep a record of these times. My mother was so proud of me, her scribe son. I taught my sister to write as well.  
  
The King stands by himself now. I saw him at the highest point of this citadel, staring out into the approaching night. It gave me strength. The stranger that came to Edoras, not more than a few days time ago, saw me watching my king. He spoke to me of bravery, and courage. Courage is not the absence of fear, he had said, just knowing that what I'm fighting for is worth my life. This stranger, Lord Aragorn, speaks truth.  
  
My mother and sister are who I fight for. I must keep thinking that. They are the only ones that I do this for. I would have my hands cut off by an orc blade and never be able to write again, than for those slaughterers outside the wall to lay a finger on either of them.  
  
My sister's husband fights beside me. My sister and I are twins, and her spouse is the same age as we are. Seventeen years. She is expecting her first child when the summer comes, so I fight for more than just my mother and sister. I fight for my nephew or niece. I fight so they may have a future. I fight so they may see the light of a winter moon, spilling across the fields like milk from a mare. I fight so that they may feel the wind, coming from the east. I fight so that they may hear the songs of our elders, so they may feel the wonder of the words, and hold them in their hearts. I fight for life.  
  
Oh, Queen of Heaven, keep my feet steady and my blade strong for as long as this fortress stands. And when they break through, may my mother's death be swift and sister's end merciful. I also beseech you that we may leave a memory, a reminder for men to come. That they may know that Rohan did end, yet it ended with such grandeur that it was ground into the stone of this mountain.  
  
Never let the world forget the Horse and the Rider.  
  
I remain yours, Penath son of Penar of the Rohirrim


	2. Second Entry: The Strong One This Time

**_ 3 Sulimé, Year 3019_  
**  
We cower here, all of us in the caves. Mothers, sisters, daughters, nieces, wives. We all cling to each other, listening to the wind outside and the approaching footsteps of the orc army, coming closer and closer. It is quiet. Like the sky before a storm. A few children whimper, close to their mothers. I wish I could do that. Bury my head in my mother's breast and hold her hand. Yet I cannot. I must be the strong one this time.  
  
The baby kicks. I can feel her inside of me, growing and waiting, just like the fear that threatens to strangle us here in the caves. I do not know if it is a boy or girl child, and I fear I may never know. Perhaps two fragile creatures lay in my womb, just as my brother and I had in my mother's. Oh, I pray not. I would not wish to bring the ruin of two lives, never to be lived, with me when I die. If I put my hand on my belly, I can feel its tiny fingers pressing against my skin.  
  
The King's niece, Eowyn daughter of Eomund, stands alone by the wall, pacing back and forth. It irks me terribly. She is a cold distant woman, not a mothering bone in her body it seems. She believes herself to be a Shieldmaiden of old, and dreams only of glory. True she is a good leader, yet has she even stopped to notice the motherless children here crying out for a few kind words as she pushes them aside in her vain pursuit for fame and honor out on that blood stained wall that surrounds us. Though I blame her not for her restlessness. Though none of us will admit it, all the women who are huddled together here, crave a sword to fight with and to stand with our men in the heat of battle. To defend not only this fortress but our way of life.  
  
I pray for my brothers, and for my husband. They are all out on the battlements, ready to fight as we would for our feeble race and nation. Ready to fight for their women, and their own lives. Ready to fight. Oh how I would to be out there, to battle for my mother, who weeps for her lost husband and her lost sons in the corner. To fell my own share of orcs to suffice for the death they have wrought upon my people. This is what it is to crave vengeance. I crave vengeance for the unlived lives of my children, the one in my womb and the ones who are not yet even conceived. I crave vengeance for my people, who are to be slaughtered like pigs for a feast. I crave vengeance. Oh I would to fight.  
  
But the only weapon I hold is this pen, instead of a sword or spear. The men took all the weapons for they need them. They left us very few blades and daggers, given to the strongest among us. Yet I hold my father-in-law's dagger, hidden in my skirts. He gave it to me before he was sent to the ramparts. He told me to defend myself and my children to the end. For that is all a woman has; her children and herself.  
  
I will have blood on my hands by the dawn. Either my own, or an orcs. I shall have what I thirst for. I shall take my revenge.  
  
This dagger shall feel flesh.  
  
If Dawn permits I remain,  
  
Pellonae daughter of Penar and Callonae


	3. Third Entry: To Die Bravely

4 Sulimé of the Year 3019 of the Third Age According to the Steward's Reckoning  
  
It has come to it. I have survived the battle, though only one of my brothers has. My sister's husband is dead. Though he met his end nobly, it was for the better. Better than her to watch him killed right in front of her eyes. Better than he knowing that she would die like a dog at the hands of these monsters. They are merciless, our enemy, and now they stand at the door, breaking in.  
  
I am tired. Tired of blood, and the feel of armor collapsing beneath my blade. I am weary of the stench of flesh and the labored breathing of the dying. I wish to be gone from here and follow my brother Clannae to the halls of our fathers.  
  
We have barricaded ourselves within the Hornburg. They have taken over the rest of the fortress. Word has been sent to the women and children, to flee into the mountains, perhaps to escape our fate.  
  
Dawn has come, and its rays somehow and slide through all the blood and terror of this night to reach our drained bodies. Yet I will find no hope. Hope has flown with the stars, though I could not see any.  
  
We are doomed, and I am in despair. It seems as though this maybe my last entry. May I write soon again, when I leave this world. May I die bravely.  
  
Farewell, may the sun keep you within its grasp, Penath son of Penar of the Rohirrim 


	4. Fourth Entry: Daughters of Eorl

4 Sulimé, Year 3019  
  
They're breaking in, and I can feel each blow to the old wooden door deep in my heart. The women, now drained of their previous courage and will to live, cringe in the back of the caves while their children sob and cry out.  
  
I am sitting with my back to the wall, vibrating with the pounding of fists and stomping of iron shod feet. The orcs make threats in their coarse tongue right outside the door, and I cannot hear myself think for the fury of noise that bursts in the refuge that has become our death trap. I know the end is soon, and I will admit, I am afraid.  
  
Eowyn, the cold regal maid, has proved herself however. She stands at the door with those that are brave enough, holding back the doors, coaxing the women to come help them. But most are too old, or frightened to. She tells us that we are cowards and unfit to call ourselves one of the Rohirrim. I helped keep the door at bay, but my obvious condition and the fact that I am the only literate one, bid them to tell me to write a record of the last hours of the women of Rohan, the daughters of Eorl.  
  
I scold the other women, telling them that we should not die like rats caught in a larder trap, but as shieldmaidens, brave and enduring. Some have listened and now they are gathering more at the door.  
  
The women have gathered their courage and now all push back the door against the wave of orcs. A few stay back with the children, as I do. We have been told to escape into the mountain and the women with the children have, but the rest of us have refused to move from our position. We will put up a fight like no other till the very end. We will not go down like mad dogs speared in the streets.  
  
I know these are the last words I pen. If these documents survive long after the death of me and my people, know this; Rohan did not go down without a fight.  
  
May the Queen of Heaven have mercy on our souls,  
  
Pellonae of Rohan 


	5. Fifth Entry: Like a Wave over the Shore

4 Sulimé of the Year 3019 of the Third Age  
  
According to the Steward's Reckoning  
  
Just a few hours ago, my fingers thought they would never again taste the salty, blandness of parchment, or the feel of a quill in my hand. Heaven has smiled upon our plight and brought with the dawn salvation like no other.  
  
Like the bright light of morning spilling across the plains of my beloved home, the wizard, Mithrandir, brought aid in the form of the son of Eomund, Eomer, and my brothers and the rest of the Rohirrim that is loyal to our king. They came just as we rode out and met our foes, felling them as we traversed down the breeching wall like the legendary gods of old, battling with honor and valor.  
  
They washed over the orc army like a wave over the shore, though I have never seen the ocean or the shore. And we wrought out retribution upon them, bringing the taste of vengeance and black blood to our parched and tired lips.  
  
The women held their own. A few orcs burst through at the last, but they were dealt with quickly by the wives, daughters and mothers of the soldiers that fought outside. Like true shieldmaidens of old.  
  
I thank the gods that my sister and mother still live. Pellonae was one of the women who slew her share of orcs, pregnant belly and all. She must have known in her heart of her husband and brothers' deaths, and wanted revenge, for she cut off the head of one of the uruk hai and stuck in on a pike outside the caves, much to the joy of the women.  
  
I fear, though, that surviving this battle means that we will have to survive a war. I see the looks in the faces of my people. We have all lost someone, a relative or friend. We all grieve in our hearts and nurse a black hatred and anger toward those how have wreaked such a terrible massacre upon our nation.  
  
We shall have to fight, but we are ready. May we survive more combat if it is given to us, and may we never forget the glorious dead. They live forever in this place, and will never be forgotten.  
  
Gods' blessings upon you,  
  
Penath son of Penar of the Rohirrim 


	6. Sixth Entry: Vengeance and Honor at the ...

4 Sulimé, Year 3019  
  
Victory tastes like the dawn and it is thick upon my tongue. If only I could've slain more orcs I would've. My brothers Clannae, Eoflynn, and Poelae have all been killed. And my husband, the father of my child was butchered as well. I have the blood of their murderers still upon my skin and I can still feel the weight my blade carried, driving into their armor and taken the life breath from them. I will keep that memory, and tell my child of their brave father and the vengeance of his death.  
  
The army of Eomer came with the wizard Mithrandir and devoured the orcs as the remaining forces of Rohan strove to make a final charge. They came out of the Hornburg and wrought their own revenge. I wish I could've seen it.  
  
The orcs broke through just as they were being conquered by the legion led by Eomer. The ones that did make it into the caves were quickly slain by our angry daggers. My father-in-law's blade did feel the dank flesh of an orc, several to be accurate. I severed the head of my first and impaled it upon a pike outside the caves as a symbol to the men that we held our own.  
  
I feel fatigued. The babe within me twists and kicks violently. Carrying the child and this whole ordeal has dealt me a hard blow. I sit in the Hornburg and pen these words. Eowyn and I were recognized by King Théoden for our bravery, as well as the rest of the women. The remaining men were decorated for their valor as well.  
  
I feel so tired, so drained by grief and lack of sleep. I must rest. The babe is quite restless and I am undone. I must find rest or this child may come before it's time.  
  
May the Grace of Heaven keep this day sacred,  
  
Pellonae daughter of Penar and Callonae 


End file.
